Growing up in Coney Island, Rick Thornton spent his summers on the beach watching cruise ships, fishing boats, and tugboats glide across the water. When not studying the real thing, Rick pored over images of ships in Encyclopedia Britannica. He knew from a very young age that he wanted to work on the water.
Rick joined the Navy after he graduated high school in 1984 and later worked as a captain on yachts and tugboats. In 1990, Rick took a job with NY Waterway, captaining a ferry that shuttled passengers across the Hudson, sailing between the Port Imperial terminal in Weehawken, New Jersey, and Midtown Manhattan — a seven-minute commute on a system known for its punctuality.
At first, he worried the job would grow monotonous. “I assumed I’d probably get bored doing the same route every day,” he recalls. “I figured I’d stay a couple of years, then move on.”
But before boredom had a chance to set in, Rick learned just how unpredictable his job could be.
The 27-year-old captain was loading his ferry on February 26, 1993, a little after noon, when commuters brought shocking news: A bomb had exploded in one of the Twin Towers. Moments later, orders crackled over his marine radio: Reroute to the World Trade Center and assist in an evacuation.
Rick raced to the Battery Park City dock and found a terminal overflowing with panicked, crying people. Terrorists had detonated a bomb in an underground garage beneath the North Tower, killing six and injuring over a thousand. The blast tore a 100-foot-wide crater through four levels of parking, trapping people in elevators and forcing thousands to flee down smoke-filled stairwells. Chaos rippled through the 16-acre complex out into the entire Financial District.
With the PATH trains between New York and New Jersey shut down, tens of thousands of workers, visitors, and nearby office employees were stranded, so Rick spent the afternoon ferrying people from Manhattan to the Hoboken, New Jersey train station. “Most of the fleet was mobilized that day,” he recalls. “We filled boat after boat, getting as many people off the island as fast as possible — free of charge, of course.”
Rick assumed he had provided assistance in the biggest disaster he would ever witness. But just eight years later, on September 11, 2001, Rick was captaining his ferry across the river toward New Jersey when two hijacked planes crashed into the Twin Towers, ultimately killing 2,753 people on the planes, in the towers, and in the complex.
Though he didn’t see either plane hit the towers, the billowing smoke made it clear: This was a disaster. Without hesitation, Rick steered his boat toward the World Trade Center, joining scores of other vessels in what would become one of the largest maritime evacuations in history.
“The buildings were still standing, and we didn’t know what was coming next,” Rick recalls. The dispatcher at NY Waterway rerouted Rick’s ferry to the Wall Street slip on the East River, which was a safer docking point.
But as Rick’s vessel rounded the tip of Manhattan, he saw people leaping into New York Harbor, desperate to escape. After pulling two from the water, he headed toward the dock where boats to the Statue of Liberty normally boarded. Unlike his Waterway ferry, which loaded from the front via a wide ramp, those boats required side-loading—an entirely different alignment and setup.
But in a crisis, no one cared about proper boarding. Panicked people climbed fences, scrambled over the bow, and swarmed the vessel, ignoring protocol and overwhelming the crew.
Thornton filled his boat to the 400-max capacity. “We knew their lives were in danger — the buildings might collapse, another attack could come. We took as many as we could on that first boat.”
Even as he pulled away, people tried to cling to the boat’s sides. “Don’t worry, we’re coming back! More boats are coming!” he shouted. Moments later, as he neared Hoboken, the first tower fell.
It was an overwhelming moment, Rick says. “You knew thousands had just died.” As passengers disembarked, many tearfully thanked the crew. As soon as the boat was unloaded, Rick and his crew turned the ferry around and headed back toward to the same Statue of Liberty boat loading dock in Battery Park, which was now shrouded under a giant cloud of dust and ash.
Thornton estimates he made nearly 20 trips over the next 13 hours, plucking people from Manhattan and depositing them in New Jersey.
“No one used the restroom, no one ate lunch. We handed out water, pulled people from the river, and were completely covered in dust,” he remembers.
But Rick’s career providing emergency rescue services was not over.
On January 15, 2009, he had just finished his morning shift on the NY Waterway ferry and was en route to a doctor’s appointment when a call from his boss stopped him in his tracks.
“A commercial plane crashed into the Hudson. People are standing on the wings! Get back to the terminal — we need you for a rescue.”
Rick made a U-turn and raced back to Weehawken. He grabbed the keys to a fast-moving catamaran and sped toward the drifting aircraft, now being pulled downstream by the tide.
He arrived as the last passengers were being loaded onto two NY Waterway ferries. Thornton’s friend, Vincent Lombardi, had just finished helping survivors off the wings, while 19-year-old Brittany Catanzaro had rescued others, including Captain Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger, from inflatable slide rafts. Later, it would come to light that all passengers and crew had been safely rescued in this “Miricale on the Hudson.”
But Rick and the NY Waterway managers and first responders on his catamaran did not know this. Did everyone make it out of the plane? Was anyone still in the water? Luggage, coats, purses, seat cushions, and plane doors floated in a soggy ring around the sinking aircraft. These items had to be recovered.
More importantly, the crash site was now considered a potential crime scene. Although early reports pointed to a bird strike, nothing was confirmed — and until it was, rescue workers like Thornton had to assume the worst. Terrorism hadn’t been ruled out, and there was always the risk that hazardous devices or undetonated explosives could still be on board. As rescue divers searched the fuselage for any remaining passengers, Captain Thornton spent hours out on the frigid January waters, retrieving debris. At the same time, he helped coordinate the plane’s salvage, balancing danger with duty.
When Rick took what he feared would be a boring job, he could never have imagined he would be part of some of the toughest moments in New York City’s 400-year history.
“Boat captains are like first responders,” Rick explains. “We work with the NYPD and train for rescues all the time. We’re on the front lines and always ready to respond.”
Rick says he operates according to the “Coast Guard rules of the road: If you hear a mayday or see a vessel in distress, you must render aid.” Thornton also credits his strong ethical foundation to his time in uniform. “I’m very proud of my 26 years of military service in the Navy Reserve.”
But his rescue work has not been without cost. On 9/11, Rick spent hours working in what we now know was a toxic cloud of ash and debris.
“The whole boat, all of us, were covered in ash. We were worried about it. But you don’t think too much about that in the moment,” he says. “At the end of the day, we just threw out our clothes that were filthy with accumulated dust, dirt and sweat, thinking, that was that.”
Rick has since been diagnosed with multiple cancers that are linked to his exposure on that day. One cancer required surgery to replace half his jaw with titanium.
Despite his health setbacks, Rick remains upbeat and full of humor. Now 58, he still works for NY Waterway, ferrying passengers across the Hudson five days a week. He’s spent 35 years in the job he thought would be too boring to handle for more than a few years. And he’s not done yet.
“I’m not planning to retire,” Rick says. “I’m still fit and love what I do. I enjoy the routine, the beautiful skyline, and the open sky.”
When asked if he considers himself a hero, Captain Rick Thornton responds with characteristic humility: “No, I don’t. I just have a great job.”
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